


Sapphire

by LocketShoru



Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢: 冥王神話 | Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Love at First Sight, M/M, Masquerade Ball, Minos' POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LocketShoru/pseuds/LocketShoru
Summary: Minos likes being the puppeteer, sometimes a little too much. It's what makes it so much more exciting when someone catches him by surprise, and he finds himself the marionette.
Relationships: Griffon Minos/Pisces Albafica
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Sapphire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NightlyMuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightlyMuse/gifts).



> This is inspired by NightlyMuse's Delight at Midnight, aka my take on what happened as Dohko was getting his ass out of that ballroom. This is the first of hopefully four ficlets written in 15 minute word sprints because I have four assignments due tomorrow and this is my 'break' from CISCO Netacad work. "enable secret class" bitch I did that give me my MARKS.

There were few things he could’ve loved more, in this moment, in this time, at the very second the clock stuck eleven, the chime reverberating through the floor. Nothing quite like being here, under the mask, knowing nobody recognized him in this quiet Parisian manor, listening to nothing but the orchestra and the low throbbing of indistinct conversation. Nothing quite like the man whose his hand was entwined with, nothing quite like this. It was a social visit, wasn’t it? Not as Spectres but as men, for once, when those two things never seemed to coincide.

Truthfully, he was more Spectre than man, and more griffon than either of those things. Griffons guarded treasure, never strayed, never questioned, guarded and took meticulous care of what had been entrusted to them. And for a single song, barely ten minutes at all, this man before him had entrusted himself to Minos’ keeping.

He was aware, of course, of the cosmos of Rhadamanthys perhaps twenty feet away. More aware of the cosmos of the man he was dancing with, who pulled his hand away from Minos’ hip and twirled him. He went, smiling, rising onto the tips of his toes in the opposite of a curtsy, and when his partner pulled him closer, he followed him in.

There is always something to be said, about the art of dancing. It requires several things, catching the beat and swaying to it, enough attention carefully paid to ensure nobody ran into anything, more attention dedicated to the movements of his partner and following along, especially considering how every dance and step could vary across regions. The waltz wasn’t in a dialect he was used to, either: this man danced like he was from up north, all sway and step and little to say he was used to the music of this French manor. It was hard to tell if he was foreign, of course- they’d spoke nary a word, and they were of course both wearing masks, but his step betrayed him, and Minos was nothing if not noble about _that_.

He almost didn’t want to let go at all when the music slowed. The man before him was odd, as far as dancing partners went, and it had little to do with his form or his choice in steps. It wasn’t often he found others who weren’t on a battlefield that had an awakened cosmos, and yet, this strange man had one, and even more so, it was powerful. Not quite a Gold Saint ready for the slaughter and the bloodbath, but it was close, and that was of course interesting and worth looking into. It wasn’t often enough that four Spectres went onto a mission and came back five. Alone would be delighted if they did, and he thought he just might be, too.

The music slowed a little more. He focused, for a moment, allowing the other to twirl him again, and he hissed, quietly as he could, “ _Cosmic Marionation,_ ” twitching his free wrist in the spin to tug at the conductor, forcing him to swing a little faster, forcing the band to shift immediately into a different song without it ending at all. If the music didn’t stop, he didn’t have to change partners, and he could try to analyze this mystery with just a little bit more time on his side.

_Chronos, how I would like this not to end quite yet_ , he mused, and studied what of his partner’s face that he could see. He wouldn’t be able to recognize the face later in the crowd, he was sure. Though luck was on his side that not many people had such striking blue hair, it also was common enough that it would be difficult. Eyes like darkened ice inching towards a navy, like darkened sapphire, that was only too common, too. His chin was sculpted easily, the barest ghosts of scruff like he’d shaved only a few hours prior, his cheekbones hidden beneath the mask. It was easy to see, right now, that this was a man unused to brushing his hair our for formal events every day: the frizz was beginning to show, and his bangs were rough, like he hadn’t seen a hairdresser in a while and didn’t really see the need to.

He was, unfortunately, only too focused, distracted from what was around him. The music inched into a crescendo, their steps quickened, the man twirled him again and just as the music ended, dropped him into a dip, Minos’ wrists around the back of his neck and his own around his hips.

Minos blew his bangs ever so slightly out of his face. “I think I must certainly have your name,” was all he could say, though later he was sure he’d think he had the worst possible pick-up line of all.

His partner’s lips twitched into the barest trace of a smile. “Albafica,” he answered, and his voice was like a chorus to Elysium, and that was it: he was lost, and he knew it, and he almost wasn’t sorry. 


End file.
